Portraits
by PirateRouge
Summary: 6th year. Hermione, Ernie, Paravati, and Draco are Senior Prefects. Conflicts, different POVs, and (eventally) a relationship between Draco and Hermione. Of course.
1. Let's Set the Scene

Alas, alack, not mine.   
  
Not even Draco.   
  
-   
  
Chapter One: Let's Set the Scene   
  
Hermione Granger sat in her seat aboard the Hogwarts Express quietly. She was bent over over a thick book of Shakespeare's Quotations. Ever since she found he was a wizard, she had become more interested.Of course, she would have prefered to be back in the cabin where Harry, Ron, and Ginny were sitting, but since she was the Gryffindor Prefect (she smiled slightly at this, and absentmindedly stroked her badge) she was instructed to sit with her fellow Senior Prefects. None of them were friends, exactly, so the ride had been eerily silent for almost two hours.   
  
With a sigh, she closed her book and looked carefully at the other three people contributing to the stony silence around her:   
  
Padma Patil, from Ravenclaw, was draped elegantly over a seat. She was gorgeous: high cheekbones, exotic eyes, perfect figure, tall, with flowing jet-black hair. Padma was currently busily quilling ideas for designer robes into a little book with 'The Witch Club' (a very fashionable and expensive botique) stamped on the cover in gold lettering. It was common knowledge that the Club had offered her a job as soon as she graduated Hogwarts, providing she hadn't done any serious crime that would reflect badly on them.   
  
'Fat chance of that happening,' Hermione thought, grinning. Padma was Social Angel. She did, of course, fool around quite a bit, but the Club found nothing wrong with that.  
  
Her eyes wandered over to Ernie MacMillan, Hufflepuff windbag. He was the oldest 16 year old she had ever seen. Not physically- Ernie was rather short, stout, and round. He talked like Professor Binns, though, bless him. Unlike Binns, however, Ernie had an astonishing memory. Not so much for useful facts, like Hermione, but for trivia, names, and irregularities in the grading system, other people's lives, and slights against him. He was destined to be in the Ministry Cabinet, at least if people like Fudge continued to be elected.  
  
'Maybe I'm a bit harsh on him, but he's quite a... well, a windbag!' Flustered at not being able to find any other word to describe the stodgy Hufflepuff, her eyes flicked to the final person sitting on the last seat left.   
  
She immideately wished she hadn't, for one simple reason:  
  
It was Malfoy.  
  
Draco Malfoy, the 6'5, shockingly pale boy that every girl (some houses more reluctantly than others) had to admit was handsome. Abominably handsome. When he wasn't glaring at something maliciously or sneering or smirking.  
  
Hermione paused. 98% of the time, she was sure, he was engaged in one of those activities. He probably smirked in his sleep. But, now... he wasn't. He was staring rather dazedly at a book written in some dead Wizarding language. His white-blond hair fell loosely over his forehead,   
  
'And he doesn't look as if he's going to attempt to smush me under his shoe in a second,' she noted. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, she opened her book with a sharp crack that made the other three look up uninterestedly for a moment, before sliding back into what they were doing previously.  
  
"Honestly, Granger," Malfoy murmured. Hermione shot a death glare his way, but he was already back to reading his book. She looked down at her own and smirked.  
  
''I dote on his very absence', page 481. Very appropriate.'  
  
The four continued in their almost comatose state until a sharp rap on the door signaled that they would quickly arrive at Hogwarts. A few moments later, a disgruntled and greasy seventh year slid the door open and stood, blinking for a few seconds.  
  
"Anton," acknowledged Draco.  
  
"Draco," nodded the boy.  
  
'These Slytherins,' thought Hermione, almost rolling her eyes. 'So talkative.'  
  
"Well," Anton said. "I'm supposed to give these to you. Ven asked." He handed out four thin envelopes with spidery, blue handwriting.   
  
Ven was Sven, the Head Boy (Slytherin). The Head Girl was some Ravenclaw Hermione had never met, Chasity.  
  
When Anton realized that no one was going to talk to him, as they were busily opening their letters, he shifted his weight from foot to foot a few times, and then left the cabin, mumbling to himself.   
  
Hermione, after fiddling for awhile with a rather stubbon scarlet seal, opened the following letter:  
  
'**Dear** Miss Hermione Granger,  
  
**Congradulations on making Senior Prefect! It was no suprise, of course.** **I knew, from the moment you walked down the aisle to be Sorted in your first year, that you would be one of the best and brighest these old halls had seen in quite awhile**. I was so sure, in fact, that I made a bet with Sybil on it. When I notified her earlier this month, she assured me that the bet was made during a time when (unbeknownst to her then) her Eye had some version of a celestial cataract, and that once she found out she didn't have the heart to tell me. So, sadly, I did not recieve my payment of three pairs of woolen socks. Then again, theres always Christmas, I suppose!  
  
That reminds me of a suprisingly humourous joke involving a pint of fermented werewolf's blood, an invisibility cloak, and two leprechauns disguising themselves as ogres. Remind me to tell it to you, when we have a spare moment.  
  
**Now, in regards to the coming year:  
  
As you must have realized by now, you are a role model for the rest of the school. As such, I am asking you to keep any of your personal greivances with the other Senior Prefects out of the eye of the student (and faculty) body. All arguments may be carried out in your common room, which has been sound-proofed for this exact reason.   
**  
If you wish to be by yourself totally, I am sure that the Room of Requirement will fufill that desire.   
  
** I also ask you to keep in mind that you are always running against** Miss Patil **for the position of Head** Girl **next year; if you desire that title, please do nothing that would cause me or any other teacher to doubt your ability for this role.   
  
Once again, congradulations!   
  
If you desire to have audience with me, simply ask a painting for directions. The password is 'Chewing Gum'.   
  
Warm regards,  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
  
P.S. Your common room is located on the third floor, right-side corridor. There is a new painting there. It is rather unusual, but highly sensitive, so I ask you to use caution when speaking to it. The password is 'Spring'**.'  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione caught Padma giving her a wary glance. Obviously, some parts of the letter was form, and other parts were personalized. Draco let out a snort and, tossing the letter up into the air, muttered 'Incendio'. He avoided Hermione's steady frown.   
  
With a sigh, she tucked her book and letter neatly into her bag, adjusted her robes, and mentally went over her letter. The joke would probably be long and dry, so perhaps she would casually forget about it. She would most definately remember about the Room, which was handy from anything to emergency wardrobe situations to the most gorgeous library getaway imaginable. She wondered vaugely about the painting, but it couldn't be worse then a tipsy Fat Lady with Violet, could it?   
  
'But wait,' she thought suddenly. 'The right corridor-'  
  
At exactly that moment, the train churned to a stop. No one fell to the floor except Hermione, who, in her deep thought, had forgot about their arrival. She was thrown to her knees, with her bag shortly after hitting her squarely in her back, forcing her to emit a sound similar to 'Uffngh'. Ernie and Padma looked down their noses at her, while Malfoy snickered into his hand.   
  
A general clatter was heard as other students on the train slammed open doors and pounded down the outer aisle, towards the exit doors. Before she could get up, Padma, Ernie, and Malfoy were filing out. Malfoy was the last of the three to stride out. He grinned evilly and extended his hand, like he was going to pat her on the head.  
  
Hermione resisted the urge to growl. Then, catching himself, he snatched his hand away, and stalked briskly out the door.   
  
Sighing, Hermione collected her things and wiped stray dust particles off her (now slightly rumpled) robes.  
  
She slowly made her way out the door and off the train, lingering in the cool fall air. It smelled like rain, and she reveled in that feeling of cleanliness as she sauntered toward the school.   
  
It wasn't until she made it outside of the doors of the Great Hall that she spotted Ron and Harry. Rushing over to them, she ruffled Ron's hair and grinned at Harry.   
  
"How was the ride without me?"  
  
"Very Quidditch-y," remarked Ginny, poking her head out from the other side of Harry.  
  
"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed. "I bet you didn't mind that, though, did you?" Ginny was almost as obsessed with Quidditch as Harry and Ron were.  
  
"No, not much." Ginny smiled cheerily, and then turned toward the front as Dumbledore stepped up to the podium at the front.   
  
"Well, welcome to another year!" he said heartily. "The first years will be coming in shortly; feel free to look as imposing as humanly possible. And... oh, there they are!"  
  
The large doors, which had shut, were slowly creaking open. Everyone put on a stern face and stared solemnly at the frightened, titchy little first years.

When the last one had made her way to the front to form a quivering clump around the Sorting Hat, Hermione let her eyes flick to her soon-to-be roommates, and then to the faces of Ron, Harry, and Ginny, which were lit strangely from the candles on the table that were offset by the dark and stormy ceiling, which were hurtling very real-looking raindrops down at the students that disappeared two feet above their heads.   
  
'It is going to be an interesting year,' Hermione noted. 'Rather difficult,' she added, staring at Malfoy (who was scaring the living daylights out of a poor first year standing on the edge of the group) 'but still good.'


	2. Meet the Mattress

Gee, Officer Krupke. None of it's mine.  
  
-  
  
Chapter Two: Settling  
  
The Sorting ceremony was suprisingly short; there were only about 100 new students. At the end of it, Dumbledore stood up again and reported that Skeiving Snackboxes, Chuckling Carrots, and Batwing Bombers had been added to Filch's list of forbidden items.  
  
"I believe," Dumbledore added, his eyes sparkling, "that with those additions, we safely hold the title for Most Items Forbidden at a School of Magic. The total comes close to something like 2,498 charmed items. I'm sure that, if asked, Filch will hand out autographed copies."  
  
Several students snickered at this, and Argus Filch's face could be seen scowling at them, daring to even think about asking him for such a thing.   
  
The feast was, of course, abundant in it's wonderful food. Hermione looked only slightly dismayed at the amount of work that it must have been for the house elves, and murmured a small 'Thank you' towards the food, as if the elves could hear her from that. Ron saw her and shook his head.  
  
"'At's just not normal, 'ermione! 'eir just fine the way 'ey are, 'ow many times do we have to tell 'ou?" he forced out amicably, his mouth full of shrimp, mashed potatoes, and halibut.   
  
"That is disgusting, Ronald." Ginny wrinkled her nose. Hermione couldn't tell if she was referring to Ron's food combination, or talking with his mouth full. Probably both. Ron hastily swallowed.  
  
"SO sorry, Virginia. I thought you liked seafood..." with that, he tried to toss his roll at her. Ginny pulled Harry infront of her, though, and Harry's glasses got considerably more buttery.  
  
"You are dead, mate," Harry decreed dramatically, wiping his glasses off on his robe. "So very dead. Just wait for tonight."  
  
Ron chuckled and made a huge show of shivering. Hermione just shook her head and finished her potato soup, raising her eyebrows at a small first-year that was staring in a definate worshipping manner at Harry.  
  
-  
  
But the feast couldn't last forever, and soon it was over. She looked longingly over her shoulder at her three friends, while they laughed and motioned for her to join her two fellow Senior Prefects (Malfoy was missing) that were standing (albeit impatiently) and the left door. With a sigh, she straightened her posture and hair while walking composedly over to them.   
  
"Let's go, shall we?" she inquired.  
  
"WE have been ready to go for..." Ernie checked his watch. "Four minutes and twenty-seven seconds."  
  
Padma just jingled her gold braclets in a way that suggested something along the lines of, 'Will you two stop TALKING so we could go, please?'  
  
Draco haughtily shouldered his way passed Hermione.   
  
"You waited for me? How sweet," said Malfoy sarcastically to her.  
  
"No," said Padma with as much sweetness as she could muster under the current situation. "Dumbledore asked us to all go together the first time. Tradition, or something."  
  
"Well," said Draco, changing his tone for the exquisite Ravenclaw. "I won't delay you any longer, then."  
  
With that, he offered Padma his arm and sauntered down the hall.   
  
In the wrong direction.  
  
Hermione cleared her throat, stopping Padma in mid-giggle.   
  
"Yes, Mudblood?" Malfoy inquired, eyes flashing.  
  
"Well, Mafloy, I was just going to point out you're going in the completely wrong direction. But, since you're going to continue with the High and Mighty Pureblood routine, carry on. I believe you are headed in the right direction for the Experemental Potions class, where they're testing a mighty strong Deformity Draught. By all means, don't let me keep you." Hermione flipped her hair and turned on her heel, following Ernie to the correct staircase.  
  
Padma smiled slightly at Draco, gently unattaching her arm from his and walked quickly in the right direction. Draco growled slightly under his breath and briskly headed after the others, muttering to himself about humiliation, Mudbloods, and rank..  
  
-  
  
When they got to their portrait, the four stopped and looked up and down the hall for another strange-looking portrait.  
  
Any other strange-looking portrait.  
  
"I knew the old man was off his rocker... I didn't know he'd fallen all the way across the bleeding country from it," Malfoy muttered. Hermione glared at him, but almost agreed when she saw what she'd have to be dealing with all year.  
  
Their portrait was of an extremely depressed-looking mattress. It was drooped over on one side of the painting, sitting on a sparse basement floor.  
  
"I heard that, you know," it adressed them morosely. "Just because I am who I am doesn't mean I can't hear."  
  
They looked at each other, at the painting, and then at each other again. What was Dumbledore thinking?   
  
"And... just who are you, exactly?" Padma asked tentatively.   
  
"I am a mattress," it sighed. "I belonged to a girl named Myrtle."  
  
"Moaning Myrtle?" groaned Hermione.  
  
"Perhaps," the mattress sniffed. "She did moan an awful lot. About when Norman Blakeffe left her for Mandy Peter, about how she was going to fail Potions... most unfortunate. When she off and killed herself, I was very happy to be someone else's mattress. But no, the one friend she did have happened to be an over-zealous art student that painted me before I could be used by someone happier. No respect. None at all."  
  
Hermione was about to reproach the rather rude portrait when it, in a choked voice, asked them to give it the password and get on with it. Ernie blustered it out and they all got in through the door rather hastily. Hermione was the last one in, and heard:  
  
"Springs! No respect, none.... I don't even HAVE springs, do I? No, I don't. I'm completely stuffed. No respe-"  
  
She shut the door very, very quickly.   
  
"Dumbledore is daft." Draco stated simply.   
  
"Shut up, ferret..." Hermione ordered, only half paying attention. the room she was in was definately familiar... but it was probably redone from the last time she saw it. It was a very lovely room, coloured with neutrals. There were large cherry bookcases around the edges of the room, with large bay windows facing the lake. There were four desks and several other features that hinted this was a room for studying and meetings, athough at the far end there was a balcony.  
  
In the very centre, there was a hole. It had a white spiral staircase that led down to another room that was smaller and cozier, it let into yet another room. This final room had a white and black checked floor, and all it had as far as furnishings was a chess set and two chairs in the centre of the room. There were five doors: two on the left and the right that were bedrooms, with the occupant's name etched into the door, and one at the far wall that was most likely a bathroom.  
  
It was the chessboard that triggered Hermione's memory: this was the once-forbidden right corridor on the third floor. This was the room where, only a few years prior, there had been the dramatic chess game that Ron got House points for. She looked intently at the spot where Ron had layed, unconcious, for such a long time...  
  
"Still there, Mudblood? Oh, pity... I was hoping your soul would have just up and left your body, or something..." Draco sniggered past her.   
  
The comment didn't seem to offend her as much as Malfoy was hoping. He stormed into his room and shut the door loudly. Padma and Ernie followed suit, if not in a more quiet fashion.   
  
Hermione decided that her less-than-friendly roommates were okay. Knowing what she had gone through here already gave her confidence, and she walked gracefully and smiling into the room she was going to have for the next year.  
  
-  
  
And that's chapter two. Thank you to Cliche'Brat and Dracos Princess1 for pointing out that it was Padma and not Paravati in   
  
Ravenclaw... I can't believe I missed that.   
  
Oh well, thanks again! :) 


End file.
